


On Love, or: How Elisia Hawke avoiding saying the word for nine years, despite being head over heels, truly, completely, in love with her pirate girlfriend.

by TrouserFreeTuesday



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, minor mentions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrouserFreeTuesday/pseuds/TrouserFreeTuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Whatever this was, she had to admit she kind of liked it. “</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Love, or: How Elisia Hawke avoiding saying the word for nine years, despite being head over heels, truly, completely, in love with her pirate girlfriend.

Elisia Hawke was only good at a few things. Of course, Varric’d make you believe otherwise. Tell you Elisia could fight a Orleasian Champion in single combat, all while singing Andraste’s Mabari. _Backwards_. Any real Fereldan could sing Andraste’s Mabari, it was song she’d often heard the other Lothering children sing,and Elisia had quickly picked it up. Bethany had loved it, asking to hear it every night before bed, while Carver had tried to pretend he was ‘too old’ for silly little folk songs. Until Elisia and Malcolm caught Carver humming it softly one night as he did dishes. But backwards and in single combat was a bit much.

And in reality, Elisia really only had a handful of talents. She was quick with a dagger, and quicker with her tongue. Mind, she wasn’t bad at cards. Not quite as good as Fenris, but still, not bad either. What was really good at, like _really_ good, was making women scream. And not in the murdery-stabbing way, in the good-times pleasure kind of way. She was proud of it. And she enjoyed it. By the Maker, the sounds she could get from Isabela were _wonderful_. Most things with Isabela were wonderful, though. Drinking, fighting, fornicating. All great. Isabela was a woman of many talents, and she was not humble in the slightest. She’d stand in the middle of the Hangman, boasting about this or that. One crime, or another. A jewelry heist where she’d narrowly escaped the city guard in Rivain. A tryst with some Antivan assassin. There wasn’t much in the way of shame when Isabela spoke. Of course, she was a woman who didn’t wear pants. So, really, Elisia shouldn’t have been too surprised.

But Isabela was a constant surprise. Elisia had all but given up on…anything by the time she’d met Isabela. Casual sex, sure, but love? Or any sort of stability? Elisia would have scoffed. Her entire life had been tossed and turned around like a ship in a storm, and Kirkwall seemed determined to keep her from getting her bearings. There was no fairy tale ending for her, sad as it was. Elisia wasn’t going to get married to a dashing noble and ride off into the sunset. Likely, she’d die in some sort of mercenary war in Lowtown before hitting thirty.

But then Isabela came into the picture, tanned and gorgeous and pants-less, and things changed. Not at first. Falling into bed together was a natural step, falling in love was accidental and strange. Elisia didn’t even notice, feelings weren’t supposed to be involved in a casual fling. But then Isabela would stay the night, or fling an arm around Elisia at the Hanged Man and somewhere along the line they became something _more_. What that something more was, Elisia didn’t know. She thought about it, more than once, while Isabela snored and drooled on the pillow next to her. _Committed Forever Partners_ was definitely not them. Nor was _fuck buddies,_ it was hardly casual anymore. It stopped being casual the minute Leandra had asked, coyly, about “your pirate _friend_ ”. Friend in _italics_ because even Leandra saw there was something there. Isabela muttered something in her sleep, and wrapped an arm around Elisia’s waist. Elisia smiled, softly. Whatever this was, she had to admit she kind of liked it.

It never occurred to Elisia that it could be love. Or it did, fleetingly, in moments small and insignificant. When Isabela wore a ridiculous hat to the Hanged Man each night for a week just to cheer Merril up, or when she would smile coyly right before she would destroy you in a game of Wicked Grace. Or the way she snored, or woke up with a lazy grin and warm hazel eyes. In the little moments, it would appear, but the feeling would be gone before Elisia could grab hold and really _realize_ it.

But when she did, it hit her like a sack of bricks (an experience she’d actually had, thanks to a fight with a hefty bricklayer by the docks). It was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Elisia had been around the docks, doing some snooping for Aveline, with Isabela and Fenris. Fenris and Elisia were speaking in hushed tones, keeping an eye on a suspicious looking Tevinter shipment. Isabela had wandered off, near the ships. She was clearly trying to be sneaky, but Elisia saw the wistful look on Isabela’s face as she walked amongst the ships. Like it was the home she couldn’t have. Slowly, Isabela reached out to run a finger along the mast of a smaller boat and Elisia felt it. A pang, in her heart, that was both painful and _wonderful_. Love. That’s what it was.

“Hawke? Is there something by the ships? Or is there another reason you look so concerned?” Fenris was peering at Elisia curiously.

She never said anything, of course. She wasn’t crazy. Isabela wasn’t there yet. And that was okay, it’s not like Elisia was desperate for this to be a Happily Ever After deal. There would be an end, and it would be painful, but that would come later. Now, she had a good-looking pirate in her bed and every intention of enjoying every minute of it. So Elisia found small ways to share the affection she’d bottled up. Small, drunken pecks on the cheek at the Hanged Man, leaving little treats in Isabela’s room, and tracing the words against Isabela’s skin while they lay in bed. Elisia would trace her fingers along the freckles on Isabela’s back, finding shapes and words on her skin. Long hugs after long fights. But the words stayed hidden, for a time. A secret Elisia kept, always on her lips. Isabela was easy to love. Carefree, caring, and always delightfully blunt, it was a nice change from Elisia’s general pessimism. After a few drinks, Isabela would find Hawke’s hands under the table (once, accidentally grabbing Sebastian’s instead. He had turned bright pink and nearly fell out of his seat he was so surprised), and it seemed she was perpetually finding little things for Elisia. Earrings, necklaces, things that “would really bring out your eyes” or “would look good near your chest. _Especially without a shirt_ _”._ Varric, one day years from now, would remark: “It was as if the two of you were each trying to find ways to say “I love you”, but without ever actually saying it.”

Varric was probably right (wasn’t he always?). It took Isabela six years to even admit she was really developing feelings for Elisia, so really, the hiding it thing was definitely one of Elisia’s better judgment calls, but honestly, “I have a Hawke” was an “I love you” enough for Elisia. So maybe they didn’t need to say it quite yet. It’d come, one day, as Elisia sat on the bridge of a stolen ship, the mist of the sea spraying her face, and Isabela lying back next to her and watching the stars. The moonlight would give Isabela’s skin a glow, and she’d catch Elisia’s gaze and her smile would broaden, and then Elisia would let the words would slip out. But that was later. Now, she could wait. When the shit hit the fan (or the Chantry hit the sky, more like), and the ground had yet again been ripped out from under her, she had Isabela and Isabela had her, and that was something. Sadly, not preventing-an-exalted-march something, but still. They left Kirkwall together, hands intertwined, with the warm glow of the sun beginning to rise over the city-state. And that was enough.

 

And they lived happily ever after (mostly).

 


End file.
